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  • #3759

    In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      At the Monitoring Station Alpha-7, Eb Ruide was looking lazily at logs on the big screen and surveillance images.

      Nothing ever interesting happened on MARS. Eb used all caps in his head, to distinguish it from Mars, the real Mars. But it didn’t actually matter, they only knew about MARS (Mars Animated Realistic Simulation).

      He hadn’t been there at the beginning, but he’d heard the stories — even if all were sworn to secrecy for the sake of the world’s peace keeping, they couldn’t help but gossip among themselves. Must have been fun back then… Not a day without trying to fix something in the simulation. The lab rats were always trying to expand their perimeter, and physical and physiological barriers had to be put in place for them to help improve the simulation.

      They were more or less all willing subjects at the time, part of the big deception. Eb didn’t know how it changed, what made them start to believe in the illusion, and start to forget. He could only assume… many didn’t believe in the world as it was, and preferred to go back to a foregone settler era where every life counted, and you could measure yourself against the big expanse of unknown land, instead of living the comfortable torpor like he was, alone in his Monitoring Station, only virtually connected.

      Since the Aurora, it had been a bit hectic there. Actually, a big solar flare had almost frozen their equipment, and despite all the precautions, some of it filtered through the simulation. Water had leaked too, which could have been a disaster, but interestingly, it had given some of them a purpose, and all in all, it didn’t become the dreaded event they all feared. Even if all the ins and outs and communications were filtered, you couldn’t rule out a blunder. Especially with the lack of gripping activity.

      Something biped on his screen. A red button was suddenly lit. He’d never been trained to know what the red button meant. He had to refer it to his superior. Oh God, I hope she’ll be in a good mood… Since she started her special diet and had lost so much weight, Finnley Morgan was always a bit unpredictable and snappily dangerous.

      The irony of the ever-calm and dulcet AI named Finnley after her in the simulation wasn’t lost on him…

      #3725
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        On a rainy “morning” a bored “lady” was day dreaming about an “ancient” tribe who sailed the “sea” of Tedium. She “sometimes” had the strangest “memories”, although if the truth be “told”, it was not “usual” for her to make up things just to gauge the “unexpected” reactions. The last time she had a “visit”, or a visitation if you prefer, she was at a loss to know what it “meant”, lack of inherent meaning notwithstanding. Better perhaps to “face” the facts: “irina” was a fictional character, “stuck” in the back pages of a “group” story; despite not lacking in “consciousness”, like “mater”, she has no “hand” in it (or so it was assumed). Better not look a gift “horse” in the mouth, they existed, even if nobody was “interested” in them anymore. It was, however, the best “kept” secret of all: Irina and Mater had arranged to meet for lunch and discuss a plan.

        #3718
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          I don’t really want to write, Elizabeth was thinking, I want to read, just read. And perhaps write a little bit about what I’m reading, or draw a map to illustrate the connections between what I’m reading and what I’m doing. Or what all those others out there that pretend to not be me are doing.

          She paused and looked around. Is there anything more perfect than a warm house, full of firewood and full of books? She had just read something about the “beast”, and welcoming the beast. The beast in question was illness, and the author was welcoming the beast because it was an excuse to just read and do nothing else. Elizabeth’s beast the other day was no internet connection, and she had pulled the sofa up to the patio doors to lie in the sun all day, just reading. I’ll lie there every morning, when the sun streams in just so, lying on the sofa and just reading, she thought. But she hadn’t.

          But she kept thinking about lying on a sofa reading all day, not just any sofa, but a sofa that was positioned to catch the winter sun through the window. It reminded her of many years ago in a cold climate, (or was it a chapter in a book, a character that had done it? She wasn’t sure, but what was the difference anyway) lying on a sofa all day, a large American one that was longer than she was and wider too and would have had room for several dogs, if she’d had any then, not a short European sofa that cuts off the circulation of the calves that hang over the arm, with no room for dogs. She was sick, she assumed, because she had the house to herself and because she spent the entire day reading a book. She wondered if anyone did that even if they weren’t sick, and somehow doubted it. The book was Bonjour Tristesse, and she never forgot reading that book, although she promptly forgot what the book was about. It was the delicious feeling of lying on a sofa with the winter sun on her face, when beyond the glass window all was frigid and challenging and made the body rigid, despite it’s dazzling white charm.

          There was no winter sun shining in today, just rain trickling down the windowpane, cutting through the muddy paw prints from when the dogs looked in. But just seeing the sofa positioned in just the right place to catch the sun was warming, somehow.

          #3533
          matermater
          Participant

            Mater:

            I feel myself moving slowly today. The thought of death and my poor little guinea pig is still nagging. It occurs to me that perhaps I am walking slowly because I don’t want to move too fast into the inevitable.

            Or perhaps it is just that I did not sleep so well last night. It is so damned hot and night time offers little respite from the heat.

            At least the kids have stopped fighting. I worry about them. Always shut away in their rooms on that internet thing.

            I am so tired. More tired than I should be. It is not the usual aches and pains. Something feels wrong. I have made up my mind to go and visit Jiemba, the local aboriginal healer. It is a wee bit of a walk, so I will need to start early, before the heat gets up. I don’t want to ask Dido to take me. “Just go and see the doctor in town!” she will say to me. For all her alternative ways, Dido can still be pretty closed minded about some things—and she thinks I am a crazy old fool anyway.

            But I think Jiemba has the gift—special healing powers—and he comes from a family of aboriginal healers. His father was a healer and his grandfather too. I went to see him once, his father, years ago. My back was bad and the doctor in town said I would need an operation. He did some chanting, calling up spirits I think, put his hand on my back and pulled out a stone. He said the stone was the sickness causing my back pain, or some such thing. I was sceptical at the time, but my back never did give me any more bother. I’ve read up on it since then and I think there is something in it all. The older I get the more I realise I don’t know it all.

            Besides, there is something else I want to ask him about and I don’t know who else I can talk to. That’s the problem with getting old—one of the problems anyway—people tend to assume you are losing your marbles if you say anything out of the ordinary.

            But I think the Inn is haunted.

            #3394

            King Artie had decided he would be George. That would be his adventurer’s identity, his nom de plume (if he ever gets out of his adventure alive and manages to write novels out of it, that is).

            He’d packed in a hurry, taking advantage of the guards’ shift at midday to disappear from the castle unnoticed.
            The bag full of his stone collection was getting heavy under the sun, and the exertion took his toll and dulled his usually quick reflexes so that he was taken by surprise when the girl grabbed him. A strong woman… Now he was smitten.

            He’d noticed her leaving under the most peculiar of cloaks, taking her at first for a male adventurer —he had assumed being followed by a stray cat meant it was a fish-smelly adventurer too. Her gait sure wasn’t very feminine, but her face was pretty; even prettier when she looked angry was something he would have loved to tell her if she’d given him the chance.

            He chose to ignore her last remark and continue to discreetly follow her. She knew her way around, and seemed headed out of town. At least she was a better bet than being under the thumb of the P’hope’s minions.

            #3380

            “Follow the elephant before it disappears again” suggested Ivan to Lisa and Fanella who were visibly distraught at Sanso’s unexpected disappearance into the depths of the marshy field beneath their feet.
            “That elephant must be connected to some sort of human civilization, elephants don’t parachute on their own,” Ivan deduced, grateful that he had watched so many nature documentaries at the village, and that he could appear knowledgeable to the frightened women.
            “Shouldn’t we look for Sanso?” asked Fanella. “Does that strange letter provide any clues? Has he been pushed through a perforation into the honeycomb? Something to do with the underground faded pale people?”
            “If we find some of the local inhabitants, we can ask them for help. If we start wandering around here in this mist we will surely get lost, or even struck by another falling elephant.”
            “Are we assuming the natives are friendly?” asked Lisa nervously.
            “Yes, at this point, we are” replied Ivan. “Until we find proof indicating otherwise. And we must assume that Sanso can look after himself, and that he will join us later.”
            “The elephant did look friendly” added Fanella. “Look, he keeps looking back to see if we’re following him. Come on!”

            #3370

            She was stroking the black cat who was complained loudly at the unwanted massage, when the messenger arrived at her door.

            “The King’s Chamberlain would like a word… in private” was all the footman had said.

            “Doesn’t look a slight bit suspicious to you?” the cat told her, shaking and licking the human scent off its fur.
            “Of course it does, don’t come if you don’t want to.” She replied smugly, wrapping her cloak around her despite the sizzling sun and the humidity.

            She followed the messenger, wondering what required such discretion.

            “A weighty matter indeed,” Downson said to her when she arrived at the rendezvous point under a vaulted passageway at a point where the sounds were cancelled out and voices could share deepest secrets in all discretion. “The P’hope has spies in many places… And at least I know of him, so he is not even the most dangerous one, I fear…”

            She was not of many words. Seeing that, the Chamberlain’s continued.
            “There are forces at play that conspire against the King’s rule.”
            She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
            “I know what you think, people should be self-governed, but you can see it another way, people’s leaders are also the expression of their beliefs. But never mind the philosophy… You are uniquely talented for a rescue mission.”
            “What do you mean?”
            “You know have powerful allies… tools,… and dragons too, if the tales are true…”
            She tittered softly. The tales were true, all of it except about the dragons being powerful allies for some rescue quest. Dragons were lazy dreamers, or at least the ones she used to know. She replied with magnanimity “Let’s assume I’m the person you need for this mission… What is my compensation for it… And don’t serve me platitudes about the travel being all that matters. That grumpy cat needs to eat.”
            The cat suddenly turned his eyes into the cutest kitty eyes he could do. It would have melted the heart of the most stone-hearted villain in an instant.
            Well played, Mandrake she winked at the cat telepathically.

            “Well, word has it that you are on a quest to astral, and maybe I could help with that.”
            “Continue…”
            “I could arrange an interview with the Fisher Count. As an entrusted Guardian of the Saint Amber Graastral Stone Cup, he could grant you a drink from it.”
            “Tell me more about whomever I’m supposed to rescue?”

            At the sound of footsteps, he stopped, and pushed her towards a column out of sight.

            “Oh, it’s only a cat” the soldier said, continuing his round unaware of the two.

            As soon as the other had left, Downson resumed his talk in hurried tone and quicker sentences.
            “I have good reasons to believe a young girl with great desire to prove herself was sent many years ago to the Fog Abyss as a rite of passage, but she was tricked and left for dead there. The magi who were supposed to protect her only said they had lost her. But something else happened. Last night, one of them came to me full of guilt. He was visited in a dream by an apparition of the young girl and her guardian angel. Something horrible had happened, but she told him she forgave him and that she was alive and well. You need to bring her back to us, and be discrete about it. Somebody wanted her dead and buried, and will stop at nothing to complete the task if they find out she’s alive.”

            Before the Chamberlain left, he turned back and told her:
            “Better be quick to leave, I shall have all that you require prepared for you. And a word of advise… you can trust no one, Arona.”

            #3248
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The dogs barking woke Lisa up; at first she assumed she had woken up disorientated and disgruntled because of that, but then she recalled all the screaming, no, more like bellowing, she’d been doing in her dream. Intense passionate bellowing howls, like an expulsion of pained frustrated energy, of outrage. Frustratingly, she recalled no details. There had been a similar dream the previous Easter when she was sick ~ the same kind of howls, and she had felt much better afterwards, but she wasn’t sick now ~ in fact, she had been feeling better than she had in a long time.
              Sipping her tea and still feeling cranky at being woken up, Lisa recalled the strange phone call she’d received the night before, and had a feeling it might be an element of her dream. One of her neighbours from just outside the village phoned, Clarissa. Clarissa was a young widow; since her elderly husband had died some months ago, and she had lived alone with her eight dogs. There had been nobody to ensure she took the medication she needed for her condition, which had resulted in a series of challenging episodes, alarming the locals. A few weeks ago, one of Juan’s sheep had been talking to her and wouldn’t stop, so she killed it in the lane outside her house. The sheep kept talking to her, so she cut it’s head off (a gruesome struggle by all accounts, although thankfully Lisa hadn’t witnessed it herself). The severed sheeps head continued to talk to the troubled Clarissa, so she kept the head on her verandah. That was the last thing that Lisa had heard when she received the unexpected phone call.
              Clarissa was polite and friendly on the phone, inviting Lisa and Jack over for drinks ~ insisting really with an edge of desperation in her voice. Lisa declined the invitition, and omitted to mention that Jack was out playing poker. If it had not been for the sheep incident, Lisa might have responded differently, but her sense of responsibility to her own animals made her cautious. Then, to her horror, Clarissa offered to come round and feed Lisa’s dogs.
              As soon as the long and insistent phone call ended, Lisa gathered all the dogs up into the gated top patio; a little later she was gratified to hear a noisy game of football going on in the street outside. Had she over reacted? Should she have had more compassion for the distressed young woman? Lisa lit another cigarette, feeling confused. She had only met Clarissa once, many years ago, and had no idea why she had called her, or where she got her phone number from. She knew of her because of the convoluted connecting links between them ~ Clarissa’s husband had been her own friends father. And she had heard about the various incidents since he had died from other neighbours.
              Lisa had the unsettling feeling that she had refused a call for help. On the other hand, she felt that she had responded to the call for help in merely speaking to Clarissa on the phone. Lisa had been kindly towards her, although not encouraging of any physical contact.
              Lisa sighed. She felt a stronger connection to Clarissa now, but was unsure what it would entail.

              #3203
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Whale time travel reached an unprecedented level of popularity in the 2020s. Whales were quicker to learn the skills needed than their human counterparts, less constrained by belief constructs and generally more relaxed and fun loving, less hidebound with responsibilities and worries. There were accidents of course ~ some accidentally teleported onto land, as in the case of the many “beached” cetaceans, humans mistakenly assuming that their swimming techniques had been faulty. Another common misconception was that whales spotted in waters that they normally did not frequent had been swimming off course, for reasons unknown but generally assumed to be because of pollution, radiation or underwater sonic disturbances related to the military. It was true that sometimes these factors were a motivating aspect, but primarily whales teleported and time traveled for the sheer fun of it. Time traveling back to times and places where whaling ships dominated the oceans was considered to be a sport for the dare devils and thrill seekers; time travelling to the future for those more interested in a relaxing holiday. Some whales had a particular interest in archeology ~ shipwrecks and underwater cities and so on, but the dates of arrival had to be timed correctly, as underwater cities were not always under water and a miscalculation could result in a stranding on land in the middle of a town square or atop a pyramid. Many an ancient legend of monstrous other worldly beings had arisen from such a faux pas.
                Whale teleport practice portals had sprung up all over the seas in response to the increasing demand from young up and coming whales eager to try their fins at the new pursuit. Most of them were static, and related to land mass locations, such as the waters between the Pillars of Hercules at the western mouth of the Mediterranean, or the area offshore from the Hercules Tower on the Galician coast. In fact, the whales surrounding the shores of Spain had been at the forefront of the explorations, and these two portals were well established.

                #3074
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The parcel had been delivered to her house, and not to her new friend and neighbours house just down the road, for various reasons mostly to do with efficiency, post offices and lack of specific house addresses. The parcel containing the music had been sitting in her kitchen for almost a week, which oddly enough was probably as long as the parcel had taken to travel from North Carolina.
                  Trove (for that was her name) and Dude (for that was her partners name) played a tile game of rummy, and it was an unusual game that night. Dude noticed missing tiles on the table on at least five occasions, and not altogether unsurpringly assumed that Trove should have been wearing her glasses, instead of placing incorrect sequences with missing tiles. Trove on the other hand, bearing in mind that she was not in the habit of doing this normally, insisted that the tiles had simply disappeared, or changed somehow.

                  #2376

                  “Now, steady on, folks! There’s no need to be rushing headlong into this, I think a little tete a tete is in order here before we all lose our heads completely.” Aunt Dolores de la Cabeza had arrived unexpectedly, and not a moment too soon. “Possibly a tad too late” she muttered, glancing around at the headless New Peaslanders and Saucerers. “This is a fine pickle, I must say.”

                  Pickel beamed at his aunt. “Oh, I don’t mean you, you silly boy!” Dolores chucked him under the chin affectionately, except that he had no chin. “You’re a chinless wonder, m’lad”

                  “I’m a girl, not a boy, Aunt Dolores” piped up Sis Lilly.

                  “is that a fact, young lady? And since when do girls have blubbits in their knickers, hmmm?” replied Dolores tartly.

                  Lilly started to cry. Well, Dolores assumed she was crying, although she wasn’t quite sure how she knew that. “A fine pickle indeed” she repeated, frowning.

                  Pickel flushed with pride.

                  :yahoo_blushing:

                  #2290

                  Professor Gub smiled kindly at the young student. It was a common trait of the individuals in this dimension that they needed endless repetitions of information before they could assimilate it, and Prof Gub assumed that this was simply another example of the density of the inhabitants. It hadn’t occured to him that his words weren’t clear enough, as in his own dimension, the words were always accompanied by the clarity of the energy of the meaning behind the words.

                  “The assignment is to explain the symbolic significance of a statue of Walter Melon with pigeons sitting upon it. “ he explained. “Simple and profound, lengthy and convoluted, the choice is yours.”

                  Turning to Lavender, he asked “Are you understanding?”

                  “Oh yes, thank you, now I am” replied Lavender politely. The student sitting next to her, the enigmatic and dashingly handsome Dieter had helpfully passed her a note with Prof Gub’s words translated into plain English.

                  #2534

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    I told you it is my feeling that in a sense these communications took place one afternoon while I was half dozing.

                    They could make no sense to me then. The use of unconscious knowledge could not then take place. I do not know the state of your wife’s consciousness, or of your own, at that time in my own past. In any case, your own conscious knowledge of such events apparently had to wait until certain intersections happened.

                    Awareness of these communications conceivably could have taken place at any time, but certain levels of comprehension had to touch all of our personalities before such communications jelled, or became strong enough to make sense in both of our worlds.

                    I do not believe that I was aware of these communications either when they first happened. I would have had no way to evaluate or understand them. I assume that the same is true on your parts. At the same time, in a manner of speaking, the communications are enriched as my knowledge of my world when I was alive blends with your present knowledge of your world in your time.

                    It is as if the three of us all wrote portions of a letter, the words fitting together meticulously, and yet forming a fine puzzle that had to work itself out as we each made our moves in our own realities. It is one thing to send a letter from one portion of the planet to another, as in your mail system — but it is something else when the three individuals involved are constantly changing their alignment, position, and probable activities.

                    It is like trying to send a letter to a certain address while the mailbox keeps appearing or disappearing, or changing its position entirely, for all three of us are a portion of that one communication, while the position of our consciousness constantly alters.

                    It is a wonder that such communications take place at all considering the changing coordinates that constantly apply. The communications could all have remained in the dream state on all of our parts, but we were all determined to bring them into some kind of actuality in the same way that the idea of a painting is changed into the physical painting itself.

                    Godfrey, that’s got me thinking, you know. Seem to have a bit of an idea brewing, old bean,” Ann said with an enigmatic smile.

                    “What are you on about now, Ann?” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me what that book is you’re reading, you can’t quote books without mentioning the name of them, so you may as well tell me now.”

                    “I was wondering how to slide it in, Godfrey” she replied with a snort. “It’s The World View of Rembrandt, by Jane Roberts.”

                    :paperclip:

                    #2201
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      “Well let’s assume for a moment that you do choose to accept the gift of pig, Asp, will you change the name?”

                      “Well I’m not sure I need to. He’s called Sassafras Sense, and I quite like the name ~ Sassy for short. In fact I like the name so I think I will choose to accept the gift pig after all.”

                      #1083
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Finnley was momentarily non-plussed. Sir Hector had seen through his disguise almost immediately. Finnley had assumed that Sir Coon’s notorious reputation as a rampant ladies man, unable to resist anything in a skirt and stockings, would ensure that he would follow Finessa (aka Finnley) into the library “toot sweet”.

                        #1054
                        EricEric
                        Keymaster

                          “I thought Tobi told not to open any door this month” Becky Tooh said to Tina, who was waiting patiently on the doorsteps.
                          JUST open the BLOODY door!” an exerted Tina finally managed to blurt out, remembering Mehmot Lung’s teachings

                          Tina had decided against all common sense to go to Becky Tooh (or BeckyT) and Sean’s house, not so much to happily gargle ga-bla-blu-blooes with the little crying and smelling babies, but to see if the clone’s health was really a concerning matter.
                          Al’s lack of attention on the subject had not very comforting. To say the truth, he’d been horrible as usual, and hadn’t told her he was going with Sam on a trip in the Floridisles.

                          Since New York’s flooding, and after a series of calamitous tropical cyclones, all was left of Florida was a thread of big islands, not as densely populated as it once was. However, a few of their friends were still living here, managing a dolphin ranch, and organizing on occasion some excursions with the dolphins in the lagoons.
                          Of course, she had remote-viewed it all, but it was horrible enough from Al to have assumed she would figure on her own.

                          But back to the subject, she couldn’t really decide if Beckitee’s state was alarming or not. Her lack of attention was surely running down the genes pool, she wasn’t expert enough to tell, but as far as her body was concerned, Beckitee looked absolutely perfect —though she still got hints of that little balding problem left, and so little (but noticeable, still) wrinkles on her arms, she thought.

                          Surely Beckitee was beautiful… Not sure she was as funny as Beckipoo though.

                          #1044

                          Just behind the plumpy panting woman who was coming to the campfire, Balbina could see the most interesting waddling goat she had ever seen coming along.

                          “And I suspect the goat talks too?” Balbina asked Yuki.
                          “Oh, yes… lots even… But don’t expect to understand all she says” Yuki added with a bwink.

                          Hahaha, Balbina was amazed. That place was the most delirious dream/out-of-body projection she’d had in a long long time. How entertaining.

                          “Beh, don’t be fooled, Balbina dear, it’s all real. And you’ll know very soon.” the goat started to greet her.
                          “And you are?”
                          Rafaela, at your service.”
                          “How many more like you are there here? I’ve never seen such a funny zoo…”
                          “A great deal actually” answered Yuki “but not so many of them are focused in this form. You still have to meet our dear Armowlle, who is doing some spying business and occasional rescue missions on the island, and our soft Arailynx who is on more subjective missions currently…”

                          Balbina was wondering “and why did you say I’ll know very soon?” she asked the goat.
                          Rafaela answered with a mysterious smile “Because I’m planning to communicate a way out of this island to two of my little protégés, and I expect some of these people will follow. And you are very likely to meet them in the flesh when they get there.”
                          “Really?!” Balbina was amazed. This dream was taking qualities of realness she wouldn’t have suspected the least it to have.

                          “Now,” Yuki cut short the amazement moment “we need to have those among our friends willing to leave, to be prepared to leave at dawn.”

                          “Okay” Anita, who had been seated on the sand quietly till then, rocking gently from side to side in a calm meditation, said softly.

                          “Oh, she really can feel us talking…” Balbina said more to herself than to anyone else. And looking closely at the girl’s energy field, she could see how expanded it was, reaching those of Yuki, Kay the spirit dog, and Rafaela and even hers in luminous threads.

                          “Not all of them are leaving tonight” answered Yuki to her unspoken question. “I think Anita and her parents will, but it’s more than probable than the others will stay. Some have business to do here, and others are in vacations huhu…”

                          “You’re right, seems like the one with the strange energy field is gone already?”
                          “Oh Claude, you mean. Yes. His mummification experience wasn’t too pleasant, and he has unfinished business with the people of the island; no wonder he prefers to stay here on his own.”

                          (on the beach, around the campfire, in Regional Area 1, or physical reality)

                          Awww, plane-crash you say? ‘ow wonderful… Mavis was chatting with Akita. Ye need to come with me, ye can’t stay ‘ere all night. Besides, Shar and Glaw will be so thrilled to see you. And we were starting to think it was all boring ‘ere; didn’t know they would have real survivors like on real-TV!

                          Aaron and his familythey would probably need some better shelter, I assume. This probably would be best for us to come with you… Akita answered. And apparently, Claude has left, so that’s just us…

                          Owlright then! Mavis beamed, come with me handsome! she said, clutching the soldier’s muscular arm under hers.
                          Don’t worry Akita, we’ll follow you, said Anita to the soldier who was visibly appealed by the woman but was also weary to leave Anita alone with her sleeping parents. Besides, we can see the lights behind the trees, it’s very near…

                          See you there Anita! Akita said to Anu
                          Bye Akita! And don’t worry, Kay is always with you she said with a mysterious smile.

                          As they walked side by side to the facility, Mavis said “Kay? A friend of yours?”
                          “Oh, my lost dog… Nothing to worry about” answered Akita absently.

                          #824

                          Midora was perplexed. These books were like an open-ended uncharted territory. That territory was so vast and fractal-like in nature that each attempt at following a single thread seemed daunting. There were always details growing like a reckless plant from the entry points where she started her investigations. Badul seemed lost in this jungled maze.
                          Last time she’d tried to connect, she ended up with another focus of his, a child, vaguely related to the crystal skulls hunt.

                          All it requires is a proper compass to navigate the thought suddenly appeared in her mind as clear as daylight, carrying with it a trail of concepts and clusters of associated ideas.
                          One in particular…
                          She’d had that book of designs she’d always loved to read when she was a child. It was full of colorful symbols which were called by the authors “tiles”. The authors associated some properties to them, and she remembered one which was about a compass…
                          So she had found a compass… Now, she would have to learn how to use it. The introduction of the book said:

                          The tiles presented in this book all have different functions; they can be primarily understood as focal points which enhance specific uses of energy. […] As far as we know, they can be discovered in many situations, either objective events (e.g. something that catches your gaze in the street) or in the subjective (dreams, visions, inspirations etc.). In both cases, the recognition is instantaneous, as each tile carries a distinctive energetic signature which is the essence of its “function”, so to speak.
                          As such, it can be used theoretically in both situations (subjective and objective), though, as far as we have explored, subjective interaction with them seem to be the easiest and most quickly rewarding way of accessing them.

                          Subjective interaction, yes that was child’s play, she would have said, though she could vaguely understand why people before the Shift completed had more trouble accessing it. Objective wasn’t so difficult, once you get to the idea that it’s all one, and you can easily switch from each of the attentions used to focus on them.

                          The only thing that doesn’t seem to change, she thought, is the numbering. Even when the events shuffle through the pages and reorder themselves, or even when the very energy of the event subtly changes, their numbers were the same. She could start with that.

                          She cleared her mind, envisioning the compass, then took a deep breath and asked herself a question, Where do I find Badul?
                          Slowly, the compass started to shift and turn, while numbers started to roll in front of her mind’s eye, and like a lottery, at each draw a number appeared, slowly revealing a number: 1-2-3-8

                          She eagerly leafed through the books to find the reference. Well… that was more perplexing than ever, that seemed like a totally unrelated story.
                          But now, she was not so sure about that, as she read the entry and wondered about the fact that it seemed once again different from the first time she’d read it.

                          And now, she marveled as a new entry started to write itself under that one. It was the first time she actually saw an entry write itself. Those she had spotted that were not here before, she just assumed they had appeared instantaneously. But not this one… and it started to link Franiel’s and Badul’s explorations…

                          #1727

                          In reply to: Synchronicity

                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Two beetle incidents this week (three if you count Beatleboy joining my Multiply blog) as well as Jib’s dream, so I googled beetles and found that they are connected to mummification.
                            :mummy:

                            Roger Fry’s uncle Joseph Storrs Fry was a member of the Bristol Fry family and head of the family chocolate firm of J. S. Fry & Sons.

                            He assumed control of the company in 1888 :cluebox:

                            (And for what it’s worth, the more damn things that get posted, the more sync’s we notice, share and appreciate) :yahoo_winking:

                            #647

                            When Felicity had taken the job, she had thought at first that it was all a big interstellar joke…
                            Come on… Dead people speaking though living?
                            But a few recent experiences made her feel there was kind of warmth surrounding her when she started the radiophonic sessions, and that she was feeling… inspired, for lack of a better word.
                            Words indeed were coming and flowing, and even though she was rarely speechless, the words did have some different quality.
                            And people enjoyed the show greatly, and mails kept coming to the radio thanking DDT for all of the marvelous advices…

                            Till then, as she was conscious of the process, she had refrained issuing some definite statements on future events, as the inspiration was pressing her to do at times. As subtle as all of this was, she was feeling it was not really the same energy as the warm one; it was like incursions of a quicker and less stable bouncy energy.
                            It was pushing her to make cocky statements, on mass events about to come… Oh, not again self-fulfilling prophecies, please! she couldn’t help but think…

                            At times, Felicity was even wondering whether she was really going completely crazy.
                            Oh, it was so much simpler to be a genuine fraud…

                            :fleuron:

                            — Arky, come here at once!
                            — But, I’ve done nothing…
                            — Stop being such a jackanapes, will you… You know very well there is no secret…
                            — Yes…

                            Despite his being immaterial, it was obvious that the One referred to as Arky was being scolded.

                            — And you know perfectly well there is nothing to gain in pushing things…
                            — But I intended well…
                            — I know that. As generations of focuses of leaders and presidents have been doing. One would have assumed you’d knew better by now… I can see you’re enjoying being with me on the soapbox, but either you find your own, or you better stay clear next time we get a communication.
                            — Understood.
                            — Fine, class dismissed.

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